Reign of Goshtasp, One Hundred Twenty Years

One night the poet saw in a dream a cup of wine as clear as rose water. Daqiqi appeared from somewhere and told stories over that cup of wine. He called out to Ferdowsi: Do not drink except by the rule of Kavus the king. For a king now rules the world, one whom fortune, army, crown, and throne all take pride in. King of kings Mahmud, conqueror of cities, has shared his joy with everyone. From today until the year eighty five his hardships will fade, but his treasure will not. After this he will lead his army into China, and every lord will clear the way for him. No one should speak a harsh word against him; the crowns of all kings have come into his grasp. Though you have hurried through this book, now you have found everything you sought. I spoke of this matter long ago, but the tale never reached its end. Of Goshtasp and Arjasp I told a thousand verses, then my time ran out. If that portion reaches the king of kings, my soul will rise from the dust to the moon. Now I will tell the story he began; I am alive, and he has become one with the dust.

When Lohrasp handed the throne to Goshtasp, he stepped down from it and packed up his belongings. He went to the fine temple of Nowbahar in Balkh, where the worshippers of God in those days held that place as sacred as the Arabs today hold Mecca. The God-worshipping king entered that house and came down to take his seat. He shut the door of that house of prayer, leaving neither kin nor stranger inside. He put on coarse cloth for worship; this is how one should give thanks with wisdom. He cast off his armband, let down his hair, and turned his face toward the bright Just One. He stood before Him for thirty years; this is how God should be worshipped. He offered prayers to the sun, for such had been the way of Jamshid. When Goshtasp rose to his father's throne, he held both his father's glory and his fortune. He set upon his head the crown his father gave him, a crown that suits a noble man. He said: I am a king who worships God; the pure Lord granted me this crown. He gave us this great crown so that we might drive the wolf away from the flock of sheep. So that we reach out toward God's path and never bring hardship on the free and noble world. So that we uphold the ways of kings and bring the wicked to the faith of God. He spread such justice that, thanks to it, the wolf and the sheep drank side by side at the stream. Then there was the Caesar's famous daughter, whose name was Nahid, though the great king called her Katayun; she bore him two children like shining moons. One was the renowned and blessed Esfandiar, a warrior king, an unmatched rider. The other was Pashutan, a sword-wielding hero, a famous king who crushed armies. When the world was set right under this new king, another Fereydun was in the making. All the kings offered him their allegiance, and all the well-wishers gladly settled under him. Except for King Arjasp, lord of Turan, before whom even demons stood at attention. He would not pay tribute and refused all counsel; and since he ignored the counsel, he faced his chains. Arjasp used to take yearly tribute from him too: why should tribute be paid to an equal?

After some years had passed like this, a tree appeared upon the earth. In Goshtasp's hall, facing the palace, stood a lush tree with many branches. All its leaves were counsel, its fruit was wisdom; how could one who nurtures wisdom ever die? Blessed was his path, and his name was Zoroaster, who slew the evil-natured Ahriman. He told the Kayanid king: I am a prophet, and I bring wisdom to guide you. The Creator of the world says: accept the faith; look upon this sky and this earth. I raised them up without soil or water; look at how I made them. Consider whether anyone else could do this, except me, who alone rule the world. If you truly know that I made all this, then you must call me the Creator of the world. Accept the faith from the one who speaks it; learn from him his path and his ways. See what he tells you, and act on it; choose wisdom and hold this world as worthless. Learn the good faith and its ways, for kingship without faith is not fitting. When the king heard him, he embraced the better faith; he accepted from him the good path and creed. His warrior brother, the fortunate Zarir, who could bring a raging elephant to its knees, the king who among kings had grown old in Balkh, the world had turned bitter upon his wounded heart, he had grown frail and sick, senseless and drained; to him even honey tasted like poison. The chiefs, the nobles, and all the great ones, the wise and renowned physicians, devised remedies against that spell, but nothing they tried did any good. Then this prophet Zoroaster said that God's faith must not be hidden from him, for once he accepts the faith from the very first day, he will be freed from pain and made whole. The king of kings, and after him Zarir the horseman, all embraced the faith from the ruler. They all came to the king of the land, tied the sacred girdle, and came into the faith. The divine glory shone forth, and evil left the hearts of the malicious. The shrines filled with heavenly light, and the bloodlines were cleansed of defilement. Then the noble Goshtasp ascended his throne and sent armies out to every corner of the land. He scattered priests throughout the world and set up domes above the sacred fires. First he founded the Mehr-e Borzin fire; look at Kashmar and the rite he established there. There was a noble cypress from paradise, and he planted it before the door of the fire temple. Upon that straight, freeborn cypress he wrote that Goshtasp had accepted the good faith. He made the noble cypress his witness; thus he spread wisdom and justice. As some years passed by, the trunk of that cypress grew thick around. The noble cypress grew so tall that no lasso could circle it. When its leaves and branches had multiplied, he built a fine palace atop it. Forty cubits high and forty wide; in its foundation he used no clay or mortar. He raised two halls of pure gold, their floors of silver and their soil of amber. On them he had Jamshid depicted, worshipping the moon and the sun. He also ordered Fereydun, with his ox-headed mace, to be painted there. He portrayed all the great ones there; see what mastery and power he held. When that famed golden palace was finished, with gems set into its walls, he built an iron wall around it, and the king of the land took his seat within. He sent word to every corner of the country: what in the world is like the cypress of Kashmar? God sent it to me from paradise, and told me: from here, turn toward heaven. Now whoever hears this counsel of mine, go on foot toward the cypress of Kashmar. Take the counsel that Zoroaster gives, and turn your back on the idols of China. By the glory and majesty of the king of Iranians, all of you tie the sacred girdle at your waists. Do not look to the ways of those who came before; pass beneath the shade of this cypress. Turn your faces toward the dome of the fire, at the command of the truthful prophet. His command spread throughout the world, to the renowned and to the great. All the renowned, obeying his command, set their faces toward the cypress of Kashmar. It became a place of worship, for there Zoroaster bound the demon and turned it away. Call it a piece of paradise if you do not know it; why do you call it merely the cypress of Kashmar? Why not call it a sapling of paradise, since the Kayanid king planted it in Kashmar?

When some time had passed over these days, the king's fortune shone bright. Old Zoroaster said to the king of kings: in our faith this is not fitting, that you should pay tribute to the ruler of China; this does not suit our religion. Nor will I agree to it, for our kings in ancient times never paid tribute or tax to the Turks; through all those bygone days they held firm. Goshtasp agreed and said: I too will never order that this tribute be paid. Then a fierce demon learned of this, and at once set off toward the king of China. He said to him: O ruler of the world, the whole world is small before you, all have carried out your command; no one turns his head from your covenant, except Goshtasp, son of Lohrasp the king, who is now marching an army against the Turks. Openly he shows nothing but enmity; how dares one like him defy you with such pride? When Arjasp heard the demon's words, the world's lord stepped down from his throne. From grief he grew weak and sick; his heart and soul filled with sorrow. He summoned the captains of his army and told them what he had heard. He said: know that from the land of Iran the divine glory, the wisdom, and the pure faith have vanished. A sorcerer has come there claiming to bring a religion, in Iran claiming to be a prophet. He says: I have come from heaven, I have come from the God of the world. I saw the Lord in paradise; from Him I wrote down all this Zend and Avesta. In hell I saw Ahriman, but I dared not go near him. The Creator sent me for the sake of the faith; He said: adorn the earth with knowledge. The chief of the notables of Iran's army, the honored son of Lohrasp the king, the one the Iranians call Goshtasp, has tied the sacred girdle about his waist, and so has his brother, that brave horseman, Iran's commander whose name is Zarir. They all came before that seeker of the faith, worn down by that old sorcerer. One and all they accepted his religion; the world filled with his path and his ways. He settled in Iran as a prophet, over so worthless and frivolous a matter. Now a letter must be written to that man who has raised his head against your command. Much wealth must be offered to him, for a gift given unasked is a good gift. Tell him: turn back from this ugly path and fear the God of paradise. Drive out that impure old man, and hold a feast in keeping with our faith. But if he will not accept our words and renews his old defiance against us, we will gather back our scattered troops and raise a fine army, we will go to Iran to settle his affair, not fearing his harm or his fighting. We will drive him before us and humiliate him, bind him and hang him alive on the gallows.

The Turks of China settled on this plan and chose two men from among themselves. One was named Bidarafsh the Great, a huge, formidable old sorcerer and champion. The other magician was called Namkhast, whose heart never wished for anything but ruin. He wrote out a fine and clever letter to the renowned king who had embraced the new faith. He wrote it in the name of the God of the world, who knows the seen and the hidden. I have written a letter, O king, suited to what these times demand. To the mighty Goshtasp, king of the earth, worthy of the throne of the Kayanians and their blessing. The chosen and greatest son of King Lohrasp, master of the army and guardian of the throne. From Arjasp, commander of China's warriors, a world-seasoned rider who has ridden the whole earth. In that royal letter was written fine praise in the script of a Turkish prince. It said: O famed king of the world, you who make the crown of kings blaze bright. May your head stay green, your body and soul sound; may your royal belt never loosen at the waist. I have heard you have taken a ruinous road; you have turned my bright day black. An old man came, a deceiving elder, and filled your heart with dread and terror. He spoke to you of hell and paradise and left no joy at all inside your heart. You accepted him and his religion, and adorned his path and his rites. You cast aside the way of your own kings, the great ones of the earth who came before. You abandoned that ancient Pahlavi faith; why did you not look before and behind? You are the son of the man to whom the fortunate king gave the crown from the midst of the army. He chose him among his chosen ones, and set you above the line of Jamshid. Just as the vengeful Kaykhosrow held your honor higher than the other Kayanians. Greatness, kingship, and good fortune, power, glory, and grace, banners and elephants finely arrayed, many armies, treasure, and abundant wealth, all of these were yours, O great king, and every noble loved you dearly. You shone over the whole world like the April sun in the sign of the Ram. God chose you above the world, and all the great ones stood at your service. You gave no thanks to the God of the world; you were not grateful to him on this path. After the Lord made you king, an old sorcerer led you astray. When the news of you reached me, I saw stars in broad daylight from grief. I wrote a friendly letter, for we were both friends and good allies. When you read this letter, wash your head and body clean; never show your face to that deceiver again. Undo that binding chain from your waist, and begin the bright wine of joy anew. If you accept my counsel, no harm will come to you from the Turks. The land of the Kushans and the Turks of China will be yours, like the soil of Iran. I will give you these boundless treasures that I have gathered together through hardship. Fine-colored horses with silver and gold, their stirrups set with jewels. I will send you slaves along with riches, lovely ones with their hair beautifully dressed. But if you do not accept this counsel, you will feel the weight of my iron chains. Soon after this letter I will come and lay your whole country to ruin. I will bring an army of the Turks of China so vast the earth cannot bear its camp. I will dam this Oxus river with musk; with musk I will dry the sea completely. I will burn your painted palace, and tear out your root and branch from the ground. I will burn the whole land to ashes, and pin all your shoulders through with arrows. Every man among the Iranians who is old, dragging them off as slaves is no fit task. You will find no great worth in them; I will cut all their heads from their necks. Their women and children I will carry off and make them all slaves of my own city. I will lay all their land utterly waste, and tear its trees out root and stem. I have said all that must be said, from first to last; now look deeply into this letter of counsel.

He rolled up the letter and sealed it, then handed it to those two proud envoys. He instructed them: Be wise, and enter his palace hall together. When you see him upon his throne and seat, bow yourselves low before him. Pay him homage in the manner of kings; do not walk past his crown and his throne. When you both sit down before him, turn your faces toward his shining crown. Deliver the message of Farkhash to him, and listen carefully for his reply. When you have heard his answer in full, kiss the ground and take your leave. When the vengeful Bidarafsh set out from his presence, he raised his banner toward radiant Balkh. With his reckless companion he sought his own glory, for he was the one who cast aside the good, straight path. When they came from the land of Turan to Balkh, they dismounted at his court gate. They went on foot until they stood before him, and pressed their faces to that threshold. When they saw his face upon the throne, like the sun and Mercury above the moon, they offered praise like servants before the chosen king of the fortunate. They gave him that royal letter, written upon it in the hand of the Yabghu. When the king of the world opened the letter, he grew enraged and began to writhe with fury. At that moment he summoned old Jamasp, who had been Goshtasp's guide and counselor. The chosen men of Iran and its army commanders, the world-seasoned heroes and the priests, he called all those keepers of the sacred fire before him, and brought out the Avesta and laid it forth. He summoned his prophet and his high priest, and Zarir, his chosen army commander. Zarir the commander was his own brother, the leader of the champions of his army. He was the world's greatest hero in that age, when Esfandiar was still a young rider. He was the shelter and the backbone of the troops, the general who guarded the army and the throne. He alone shielded the world from evil; in battle it was his spear that mattered. The world-seeking king said to noble Zarir, to blessed Jamasp and his brave son, that Arjasp, the lord of the Turks of China, has sent me a letter such as this. He showed them the ugly words that the king of the Turks had written to him. He said: What do you make of this? What do you say the end of it will be? For friendship is a bad thing with someone who has little store of wisdom. I am of the pure-born line of Iraj, and he is of the line of Tur, of a sorcerer's stock. How could there be peace between us? Yet I had held out some hope. Whoever has a name and would leave a lasting one behind must take counsel with everyone.

As soon as the king had spoken these words, Zarir the commander and Esfandiar drew their swords and declared: if there is anyone at all in the whole world who refuses to accept this faith, who will not bow his head in obedience, who will not come to the blessed king's court, nor gird himself before the shining throne, who will not take up the good path and true religion, who makes no way for this good faith, we will tear the life from his body with the sword, and hang his head high upon the gallows. The commander of Iran, whose name was Zarir, a warrior as bold as a savage lion, said to the king of the world, like a free and noble man: may the king grant me leave to answer the sorcerer Arjasp. King Goshtasp found this pleasing, and told him: rise and answer him, make an example of the chieftains of Khallokh. The honored Zarir and Esfandiar, along with Jamasp, the fearless minister, all three went out together, their heads full of vengeance, their hearts grim. They wrote a letter to the vile Arjasp, fitting reply to what he had written. Zarir the commander took it in his hand and carried it still open, unsealed. He brought it to the king and read it aloud; Goshtasp, the world-seeker, sat amazed. From the wise commander Zarir the horseman, from Jamasp and from noble Esfandiar, he sealed it and wrote his own name upon it, then called all the envoys before him. Take this, he said, and carry it to him, and see that after this you do not travel this road again. For were it not for the protection an envoy is granted in the Avesta and the Zand, I would have woken you from this sleep, and hung you alive upon the gallows. So that this wolf-headed one would learn not to stretch his neck against the king. He flung down the letter and said: go, carry this to that Turkish sorcerer. Tell him: your reckoning has come, you are bound for blood and for the dust. May your neck be struck, your waist cut through, your bones scattered into the earth. This very month, if God so wills, I will put on my iron armor for battle, I will lead an army into the land of Turan and lay waste the country of the wolf-heads.

When the king of the earth had finished speaking, he called for the black elephant and praised it. He handed the envoys over to it and said: take them off; carry them out of Iran to that border. The messengers of the warlord of China, sent back from before the world-seeking king of the earth, both departed, humbled to the dust, driven out and shamed by the ruler. They went fortunate from Iran to Khallukh, yet in Khallukh their fortune did not hold. When from afar they saw the palace of their own king with a black banner planted on its roof, they climbed down from their prancing mounts, broken-hearted, their eyes dimmed. They walked on foot up to him, their clothes turned black with grief, their faces pale. They handed him the letter of the sovereign, the chief of the spear-wielding men. His scribe unfolded that letter and read it aloud to that king of sorcerer's stock. In that letter the sovereign had written, telling of his heroes and spear-wielding men. It read: From King Lohrasp and King Goshtasp, guardian of the world, worthy of the throne, whom God sent as a messenger, with all the great lords standing before him, to Arjasp the Turk, that vile brute whose form is the form of an old wolf, who has turned his head from custom and the good faith, and chosen the road of blindness and folly. That base note you had written to the sovereign has reached us. We heard and saw those words; you were in no way fit to speak them. Words neither to be hidden nor shown, neither to be thrown down nor smoothed over. You wrote that within two months you would march an army against the pleasant land. You need neither two months nor four, for I will come like a lion after prey. Do not heap trouble upon yourself, for we have already thrown open the doors of our treasury. I will bring thousands upon thousands of heroes, all seasoned in war, all spearmen. All of the line of Iraj and of the noble Pahlavans, none of Afrasiab's kind nor of the Yabghu's. All with a king's countenance and moon-bright faces, all tall as cypresses, all speakers of truth. All from the house of kingship and the throne, all men of treasure, throne, and crown. The world has worn them through hardship and ease, all lion-tamers, all with heads held high. All spear-bearing swordsmen, all raisers of steeds and shatterers of armies. When they know I have strapped the war-drum to the elephant, the hooves of their horses will level the mountains. Among them are two chosen champions on horseback: Zarir the commander and Esfandiar. When they put on their armor of iron, they set their feet upon the sun and the moon. When they lift the gleaming mace to their shoulders, glory and grandeur blaze from their maces. When they stand before the army, you will be forced to keep your eyes on them. Like the sun with crown and throne, splendor and fortune blaze from their spears. Such are my champions and my commanders, the chosen and approved of the wise priests. Let the Syr Darya rain silver and the Oxus flow with musk; to us it is one whether the rivers run or run dry. They drive their steeds across the water so hard that the fountain of the sun goes dark. On the day of battle, if God wills it, I will trample your head beneath my feet in the fight. When the lord of Baykand read the letter, he stepped down from his throne and stood there stunned. He told his commander: tomorrow at dawn, summon the army from all of the kingdom. The chieftains of his army, the Turks of China, went out in every direction across the land of Turan. They called back his army to him, the chief guardians of his kingdom's borders. He had two demons for brothers, one Kahram and the other Andaman. He ordered them to pick, from the warrior horsemen, a thousand champions of the army. He gave them war-drums, elephants, and banners, adorned in yellow, crimson, and violet. He allotted to them three hundred thousand chosen heroes, warrior horsemen. He opened the treasury and gave out their pay, sounded the brass horn, and had the baggage loaded. Then he summoned his brother and gave him one wing of the army. He gave the other wing to Andaman, and went in the center himself with one son. There was a Turk named Gorgsar, one on whom many days had passed. He gave him command over the troops, a man you would think knew nothing but evil. He gave the plundering to Bidrafsh, and handed him an elephant-figured banner. There was another named Khashash the bold, whom not even a fierce lion would face. He made him the army's scout and vanguard, gave him the banner, and sent him ahead of the champions. There was another Turk named Hush the Demon; the lord of the Turks sent him a message. He said: guard the rear of the army; if any of our men turns back along the road, kill him right there where you see him; see that your wits do not falter at that moment. In this way he set out in the manner of wrath, his heart full of blood and his eyes full of tears. He kept plundering, kept burning palaces, tearing trees up by their roots and branches. He led his army into the land of Iran, all of them frenzied, their hearts scattered with hatred.

When word reached King Goshtasp that the lord of China, with all his army, had set out from his own land, sending his brave warrior Khashash ahead, and heard that he had marched with his troops to lay waste his fine kingdom, he told his commander: Tomorrow at dawn ready the war elephants and bring the army. He wrote to his frontier guardians: The Khaqan has abandoned the ways of noble men. Come, all of you, to my court, for my enemy has crossed the border. When the letter reached the noble men, saying the world-seeking foe had appeared, such an army came to the king's court that there was not room enough for grass on the ground. For the world-conquering king of the Kayanids the champions of the earth girded themselves for war. All the frontier guardians turned toward the king's court, obeying his command. Not much time had passed before the dust of thousands upon thousands of chosen men, had gathered before the king, that renowned and well-wishing ruler. He came to the camp and reviewed the army, selecting those fit and worthy for battle. The blessed king rejoiced at the sight, and his heart was dazzled by the countless host. The next day Goshtasp, with the priests, the nobles, the great ones, and the commanders, opened the treasury that Jamshid had filled and gave the troops two years' pay in coin. When he had distributed the pay and handed out armor, they sounded the trumpets and drums and loaded the baggage. He ordered the royal banner of the blessed king to be carried at the head of the army. He led his army toward battle with Arjasp, an army such as no one had ever seen. From the darkness and the dust raised by the marching host, no one could see the road in broad daylight. So loud were the neighing of horses and the shouting that the ear could not catch the beating of the drums. Countless banners were raised aloft, and the spears rose above the clouds. Like trees springing up over a mountainside, like a reed thicket in springtime. In this way King Goshtasp advanced, and the army moved on from land to land.

When the army's commander came from sunlit Balkh and reached the Oxus, he had the troops make camp. The king left the ranks of the army, dismounted from his horse, and took his seat on the throne. He summoned the honored Jamasp, the one who served as guide and counselor to Gushtasp. He was chief of the priests and lord among the wise, the shining lamp of the great and of the generals. So pure in body and so bright in spirit was he that what was hidden lay open before his eyes. He was an astrologer and a man of great worth; in knowledge, who could stand at his level? The king asked him and said: God has given you faith through justice and a clear, pure mind. There is no one like you in all the world; the Lord of the world gave knowledge to you alone. You must reckon it out from the stars and tell me how this matter will unfold. How will the war begin and how will it end, and which side will linger longer here? This did not sit well with old Jamasp; with a grim face he said to Gushtasp: I wish the just God had never given me this wisdom and this skill. Had I no wisdom, the king would not have asked me to reveal what is to come. Unless he first makes a just pledge with me: that he will do no harm and give no such order. The world-seeker said: By the name of God, and by this faith, bring me a pure resolve. By the life of Zarir, that battle-hardened rider, and by the life of the noble Esfandiar, I will never turn against you as an enemy, nor order harm to you, nor do it myself. Say all that you know about this matter, for you know the remedy and I am the one seeking it. The wise man said: O honored king, may your crown stay ever fresh upon you. Do not torment your servant, and cast off your anger; happy is the one whose eyes never witness this. Know this, O glory-seeking warrior: when you go into battle face to face, at the moment they raise the war cries and the shouting, you would think they are tearing the mountains apart. Brave men press forward, and the sky grows dark with the dust of combat. You will see the world turned blue-black, the earth full of fire, the air full of smoke. And from the blows of those heavy maces, like the steel hammers of the blacksmiths, a clanging and ringing reaches your ears, the air filled with the neighing of chestnut and white horses. The wheels of the chariots are broken, and the ground turns red with all that blood. You would think the sky was carrying clouds, and that from those clouds it rained down diamonds. You will see many a son left without a father, and many a father left without a son. The first among the renowned is Ardashir, and after him the king, that bold and battle-hardened man. He drove his galloping horse ahead and threw to the ground everyone who came before him. That Turk unhorsed so many riders that their number was beyond counting. But in the end he will be killed, and his good name will be written down forever. What a pity for such a famous man, a leader among all the noble and brave. Then the noble Shidasp, the king's son, will charge at the army like Rostam. Then he will draw his sword, ride hard, and cut down many an enemy. Many famous men and champions of China that lion of a warrior will bring down to the earth. In the end his fortune will lay him low and strip the crown from his head. Then my own son will come, my dearest one, his belt tightened for battle. To avenge Shidasp, the king's son, he will drive his black horse swiftly onto the field. He will endure great hardship in the fight; I will tell you, king of kings, how it goes. When the Iranians have let the shining Kaviani banner fall, the dear one will seize the banner in his teeth, holding the purple standard clamped in his jaws. A sword in one hand, his helmet in the other, and the banner of King Fereydun in his teeth, in this way he keeps cutting down the foe and tearing the life from those devils. In the end he too will be killed in battle, and his good name will be written down forever. Then the noble Bastur, son of Zarir, will drive his horse ahead like a fierce lion. He will make many enemies vanish; no one has seen anything more astonishing than his deeds. When he comes back victorious at last, his hand raised in triumph over the enemy, then that chosen horseman will come forward, and behind him the famed king of the world. He will bring down sixty of those devils and show the strength of a true champion. In the end the Turks will strike him with arrows and cast his elephant-strong body to the ground. Then that fierce, brave lion will come, the daring rider whose name is Zarir. He will ride forward, his lasso in hand, seated on his swift Esfandiari steed. In golden armor gleaming like the moon, the enemy army struck dumb before him. He will capture a thousand of their champions, bind them, and send them to the king. Wherever that king turns his face, he drives a river of the enemy's blood before him. No one can stand against that champion of the king; he will wear down the ruler in his royal tent. Then great Ardeshir will see him struck down, his face gone dark and his body yellow as the wild rue. He will weep bitterly for him and grow heartsick, and spur on his Esfandiari steed. He turns toward the Khan, fierce and full of rage, as if he had never once known retreat. When he spots Arjasp in the thick of the fight, he praises King Gushtasp aloud. He tears the enemy ranks apart from end to end, looking at no one else in all the world. He recites the Zend of Zoroaster, his royal back braced against God alone. But in the end his luck turns dark, and it strips him of that fine crown and throne. A man will come whose name is Bidirafsh; on his spear he carries a purple banner. He dares not face that chosen hero head on, so he lies in ambush along his path. He stands there in the road like a maddened elephant, a poison-tempered blade in his hand. When the king of the world turns back from battle, having conquered the world and slain Gurazm, that Turk hurls a spear into his back, not daring to come at him openly. So by the hand of that filthy Bidirafsh the king of the free will vanish from sight. He carries off his horse and saddle to the Turks, and your son will then avenge his death. Then that great and famous army falls upon the foe like a mighty lion. They charge, this one at that, that one at this, and the earth turns red with the blood of heroes. The warriors' faces all go pale, as even the manliest men begin to tremble. The army's dust rises up to the sun, and no one can see the road through the dark haze. The glint of spearpoint, arrow, and sword flashes like a star through the clouds. And from the blows the warriors strike, they keep cutting one another down. All lie wounded and slain upon each other: son upon father, father upon son. From the moaning and wailing of the wounded, even the unbound fall into captivity. So many soldiers are killed on every side that the battlefield is filled with their blood. Then that filthy, hulking Bidirafsh comes forward like a savage wolf. With the poison-tempered blade in his hand, he drives his horse on like a maddened elephant. By his hand a great many soldiers, the king's chosen men, are destroyed. Then the blessed Esfandiar comes, his army at his back and God as his ally. He drives his swift horse at Bidirafsh, his clothes soaked in blood, his heart full of fight. He strikes him with an Indian sword and splits his body from the waist down. Then he takes up that iron mace, swinging it with all his glory and strength. With a single charge he breaks their ranks apart, and once he has broken them, he leaves none standing. He impales them on his spearpoint, ruins them all and scatters them. In the end the lord of China will flee before Esfandiar, that blessed champion. He will turn back toward the Turks in flight, his shield shattered, his spears cast down. He will cross the desert with a handful of troops; the king will triumph and the enemy will be ruined. Know, chosen king of kings, that all I have foretold will surely come to pass. There is no more and no less to this than what I say; do not turn your face against me in anger from now on. For everything I said, I said only at your command, victorious king. And I said nothing about this deep sea and this dark road unless the fortunate king asked me. I saw no reason to hide anything from the king; otherwise, why would I ever have told this secret? When the king who rules the world heard the secret, he sank back against the corner of his throne. The golden mace fell from his hand; you would think his glory and might had drained away. He fell forward and lost consciousness; he spoke no more and fell silent. When the world's king came to his senses, he came down from the throne and wept bitterly. What use are kingship and the throne to me, when my days are about to turn black? For those who are dearest to me are the choicest and most renowned of the army. They are marching off, and they will go from before me, tearing this wounded heart from my body. He said to Jamasp: if this is how things stand, when the time comes to go to battle, I will not summon my brother to the fight, I will not set my aged mother's heart on fire. I will not order him to war either; I will hand the army over to fortunate Gorazm. My royal sons and young men, each of them dear to me as my own life, I will call them all, every one, before me; I will not let them put on armor, I will keep them at my side. How can the tip of a poplar-wood arrow reach a mountain of stone that towers into the sky? The wise man said to the king of the earth: O gracious and blessed lord, if these men are not at the front of the army, wearing the royal crown upon their heads, who will dare to stand against the Turks of China and bring back the glory of the pure faith? Rise from this dust and go up to your throne; do not squander the glory of kingship. This is God's justice, and there is no escaping it; the Lord of the world is not a tyrant. Grieving will do you no good; what was meant to be has been, and the deed is done. Do not make your heart more sorrowful than this; be content with the judgment of the world's God. He gave him much counsel, and the king listened; when the sky turned the color of the sun he rose to his throne. He took his seat on the throne and set his heart on battle with the world-seeking king of Chagil. The worries in his heart drove sleep away; he was seized by haste for both battle and feast.

When Jamasp said, The dawn has broken now, and the light of the stars has faded away, he brought the army down onto the plain, beat the war drum on the elephants, and marched the troops. From there he moved on toward the battlefield, and settled that chosen army there. It was the hour when the breeze of first light carries the scent of roses from the garden to the palace. Lookouts had been posted on every side, just as is the custom of noble folk. A rider came and said to the king: My lord, an army has drawn near. Such a host, O king of the earth, as never yet came out of Turk or China. They have camped close to us, pitching their tents on mountain, valley, and plain. Their commander chose scouts and sent them out, and scout signaled to scout across the lines. Then the noble Gushtasp, the bold king, called his general, the fortunate Zarir. He gave him a banner and said: Ride out, array the elephants and set the army in order. The general went, drew up his troops, and made ready to fight the lord of China. The world's ruler gave to Esfandiar fifty thousand chosen horsemen. He handed him one wing of the army, this man with a lion's heart and an elephant's strength. The other wing he arrayed the same way, with lion-hearted, defiant warriors. He entrusted that force to Garami, who was the world's own lion and the king's equal. He gave the rear guard to Bastur, that shining lamp of royal-blooded lineage. When he had drawn up the army and climbed the hill, worn down and weary from all his toil, he took his place on the fine, gleaming throne and from there looked out over the troops. Then Arjasp, king of the brave men of China, arrayed his own army the same way. He set apart thirty thousand from Khallukh, world-tested horsemen skilled in war. He sent them off to that Bidarafsh, who held the great war drum and the bright banner. He gave him one wing of the army, a man beside whom no raging lion could stand. The other wing he gave to Gorgsar, along with a hundred thousand chosen riders. The center of his army too he arrayed with fine and hand-picked troops. He gave command to that sorcerer of his, granting whatever names and thousands he asked. He himself, with a hundred thousand fierce riders, all men who had made their mark across the world, kept watch over the rear of the army, casting his eyes on the troops on every side. He had a son, a man of great worth, one who had seen the world and known its heat and cold, a world-wise horseman whose name was Kohram, a man who had met with much hardship and ease. He made that son of his the commander, and set him as chief over that vast army.

When that night had passed and day arrived, the world-lighting sun blazed forth. Both armies climbed into their saddles, and from the mountain King Goshtasp watched them. When that blessed king saw from the mountain how the warriors had mounted their horses, He called for the black steed Behzad; you would think it was Mount Bisotun itself. They draped its armored coat upon it, and that king of kings climbed onto its back. When both sides drew level before each other, they sounded the brazen trumpets atop the elephants. They laid out a battlefield, and the champions called out for single combat. First they loosed a rain of arrows, exactly like the hail of spring. The sun vanished from the world; how could anyone who did not see that wonder know it? The fountain of the sun was veiled by their arrowheads flashing like water. You would say the world was covered in cloud, and from that cloud poured down diamonds. The mace-bearers and spearmen charged, this one at that, that one at this. The sky above had turned dark as night, and the earth from end to end was red as roses. First came that gallant rider, then Ardeshir, the lord of the world. He rode to the field with spear in hand; you would think it was Tus, the commander himself. He kept circling before the army, unaware of what fate the sun and moon had dealt him. An arrow flew and struck his waist, piercing straight through the royal armor. Khosrow tumbled headlong from his chestnut mount, and his pure body was drenched in blood. What a loss, that handsome face bright as the moon, for the wise king never saw him again. Then came Shir-e Hormozd against the king, from whom the emperor once took counsel. He advanced onto the plain, a dagger in hand steeped in poison. He gave a roar like a lion about to bring a fierce wild ass to the ground. To avenge, that princely rider slew a thousand of the enemy's horsemen. As he was turning back from the fight, when the face of the earth had gone tulip-red, An arrow struck him from behind, and that royal prince was destroyed. After him came King Shidasp, who was like the king, radiant as the moon. Mounted on a gray horse dark as indigo, swift as a gazelle in stride, mighty as an elephant in body. He turned onto the field and swung his spear, and after wheeling a while he held it steady. 'Where is he,' he said, 'the huge Kahram, whose form is like an old wolf's?' A demon came forward and said, 'It is I who can strike my teeth against even a starving lion.' Both wheeled with their spears like the wind, and the prince's spear struck the Turk. He brought him down from his horse and cut off his head, casting his golden belt into the dust. He kept riding before the warriors of China, like a mountain upon a saddle. No eye had ever seen his like, for wherever beauty reached, his gaze surpassed it. A Turk aimed an arrow at him and drove its point out through his back. What a loss, that king raised in comfort, whose face his father never saw again.

Then came the chief of all the army's leaders, the son of brave Jamasp, the king's own minister. A warrior rider whose name was Garami, like Rostam, the son of Zal, son of Sam. He rode a swift chestnut steed, a mount that ran tirelessly and took no harm. The young man drove his fleet chestnut forward; he was like a moving mountain, a rolling boulder. He took his stand before the Chinese ranks and called upon the name of God. He said: Which of you is lionhearted enough to come and face my life-tearing spear? Where is that willful sorcerer? Where is the one who sought fame, and the thousands with him? Just then Namkhast stepped out to meet him; you would think he stood as straight as a pillar. Both skillful riders wheeled and clashed with mace and spear, with sword and arrow. Garami was a champion with a lion's strength; the bold rider could not withstand him. The warrior fled before Garami, for Garami's hand held a cutting blade. Garami surged forward with sharp fury, his heart brimming with rage at the slain. He plunged into the midst of the enemy ranks, and from the mountain's slope a wind arose. The two armies grappled from both sides, and both raised clouds of dust. In that tumult amid the ranks, from the wounds of warriors and the black dust, the blazing banner of Kaveh fell from the hands of the Iranians. Garami saw that banner, blue as indigo, cast down from the back of an elephant. He dismounted and lifted it from the earth, shook off the dust and wiped it clean. When the warriors of China saw him, saw that choice and famous spear, how he had taken it up from the dust, wiped it clean and carried it away, the brave men surrounded him. They charged at him from every side and struck the sword from his hand. He gripped Fereydun's banner between his teeth and, astonishing to see, wielded his mace with one hand. In the end they killed him cruelly and flung him, despised, onto that hot earth. Alas for that warrior rider, brave as a lion, whom the wise old man never saw again. At once came Bastur, brave as a lion, the royal-born son of Zarir. He slew countless of those enemies whom he engaged in that evil hour. At last he returned victorious and glad, went back and stood before his father. Then came that chosen rider, behind him the world's king, mourning. Beneath him rode a swift-footed mount, such as could not be found, one in a thousand. He came onto that dark battlefield and cried aloud: You, chosen army, which of you is a man of renown, worldly-wise, brave, and skilled with the spear, who will come before me spear in hand? For today he faces a real man. The riders of China charged at him, contriving to bring him down. The world-seeking rider, that bold man, was like a fierce elephant, like a raging lion. He wheeled among the men of China; you would think he was tearing up the ground. In those charges he slew sixty champions of the world with his battle mace. At last an arrow from the crossbow came to him; it had come from fate straight to his face. He fell from that fine-hued mount, died and did not escape: such is the end of war. Alas for that noble rider too, struck down for nothing, thrown away on worthless earth, who was like his father and his equal; alas for his handsome face and stature. When that renowned rider was slain, thousands upon thousands of warriors closed around him. On every side they grappled together and raised the dust from the face of the earth. This fighting went on for two weeks, in which not one rider slept for a moment. The ground filled with dead and wounded, and the war tents too were struck down. The doors and the plains all turned the color of tulips; blood flowed across plain and desert. The battlefield was so choked with the dead that one could barely make one's way along the road.

Two weeks passed in this fierce fighting, and hour by hour the situation grew darker. The warrior Zarir came forward, riding beneath him a great chestnut steed. He fell upon the enemy camp like fire driven by a sharp wind into dry grass. He killed them and laid them low; no one who faced him could withstand him. When Arjasp realized this king's son meant to destroy his whole army, he called out to his own troops: Is this the account you will give of yourselves? Two weeks have dragged on in this deadlock, and I see no end to this war. The champions of King Goshtasp have cut down many of our famous soldiers. Now Zarir has come into the thick of it, a savage wolf and a fearless lion. He has slaughtered all my finest men, my proud champions and my Turkish warriors. We must think of some plan, or else it is time to flee. If this goes on much longer, neither Aytash nor Khallukh nor China will be left. Who among you is the man hungry for glory who will step out from the ranks? Any bold rider who advances and makes his name famous throughout the world, anyone who can knock him from his horse and turn his back and make him flee, I will give my daughter to that man, and I will hand him command of my army. His soldiers gave no answer back; the proud army was gripped by fear. Like a lion he charged, like a raging elephant, killing them, crushing them down. Everywhere he trampled them beneath his feet, the fortunate commander of Iran. When Arjasp saw this, he was so stunned that his bright day turned into black night. Again he said: My great ones, my nobles, my chosen commanders, look at your kinsmen and your relatives, listen to the groaning of the wounded from the blows of that fiery champion, whose mace is Sam's and whose arrows are Arash's, as if he means to burn my whole army, and now he is setting my country ablaze. Which of you is skilled enough of hand to go out against this raging elephant? Whoever can reach for that mighty warrior and throw him down from his horse, I am generous, I will give him even more; I will raise his crown above the sky. Still no one gave him any answer; he was baffled, and his face went pale. Three times he repeated these words to them, and when no answer came he fell silent. Then that huge Bidarafsh came forward, foul and evil, a sorcerer and an old wolf. He said to Arjasp: You lofty sun, in strength and body like Afrasiab, I bring my life before you; I make my sweet life a shield for yours. I will go against that maddened, raging elephant, and if I get my hands on him, I will hurl his body to the ground, my king, if only fortune's wheel turns our way. The king was pleased with him and blessed him, and gave him his own horse and saddle. He gave him a poison-tipped javelin that could pierce straight through a mountain of iron. When the ugly, reckless sorcerer rode toward that wise and mounted champion, seeing him from afar he grew furious: his face was caked with dust, his eyes full of blood, a mace in his hand like the hero Sam, before him the slain heaped up like a mountain. He dared not approach him from the front, so he crept in and circled around him from hiding. From his hiding place he hurled the poison-tipped javelin at that royal rider. It passed clean through his kingly armor, and his royal body was drowned in blood. Then the prince fell from his horse; alas for that fine royal rider. That foul Bidarafsh dismounted and stripped off all of his weapons and gear. He carried off to the king of China his horse and belt, his black banner, and his jewel-studded crown. His whole army raised a shout, and their cries rose past the clouds. When Goshtasp looked down from the mountaintop and did not see him on the battlefield, he said: I suspect that warrior, bright as the moon, who lit up the whole battlefield, my brother, the fortunate warrior Zarir, who brought down the savage lion, has been thrown from his horse in the charge, for the champions have stopped their attacking. No shout comes now from the princes; perhaps the king of the noble ones is slain. A rider on a camel galloped to the battlefield, near that black banner, to see what had become of my king; for grief my heart has filled with blood. The king of the world was in this state when a rider came, blood dripping from his eyes. He said to the king of the world: May your moon guard your crown and your army, the world's champion, that rider Zarir, has been cruelly killed by the Turkish horsemen. The chief of the world's sorcerers, Bidarafsh, struck him down and carried off that banner. When word of his death reached the world-seeking king, and he saw his brother was slain, he tore his garments clean down to his feet and poured dust upon his royal crown. Goshtasp cried out: My king, they have cruelly killed the lamp of your heart. Then he said to the wise Jamasp: What shall I say now to King Lohrasp? How can I send a messenger to the court? What shall I say to that aged father? What shall I say I did with your darling, when that warrior rider was taken from you? Alas for that eloquent prince, alas, gone into the mist like the shining moon. Bring the roan horse of Lohrasp, and set upon it the saddle of Goshtasp. He made ready to seek his vengeance and to uphold his faith and his creed. The world-wise minister said: Wait; it is not wise for you to go for vengeance. At the counsel of the minister who knows the secrets, he came down from his horse and sat again. He said to the army: Who is the lion who will bring back vengeance for the fortunate Zarir, who will spur his horse forward to avenge him and bring back his horse and saddle? By the God of the world, and by the pledge of the righteous and the great, whoever from among you steps forward, I will give him my daughter Homay. Not one of them stirred from his place; no one in the army stepped forward.

Then the news reached Esfandiar that the king, that master of the spear, had been killed. Your father is worn down by grief for him, and now he means to seek revenge for him. He says: whoever wants to avenge him will turn his face toward the enemy. To such a man I will give my daughter Homay, and I call God as witness to this vow. The famous king struck one hand upon the other and wept over those evil days. All year long I feared this very day, every time I saw him going into battle. What a loss: a horseman, a hero, a lord, whose fate has torn the crown from his head. Who killed that black, tireless war elephant, the man who could tear an iron mountain from the earth? He gave the banner, the command, and his own place to his brother, and went forward himself. He moved to the center, into Zarir's place, and stood in the ranks like a fierce lion. He came to the front and girded himself, and took that royal banner in his hand. He had five brothers who knew the way, all worthy of the crown, the king's equals. They all took their stand before him, for breaking enemy armies was his custom. Before the army he said to the noble warriors: you famous men and champions of the king, see what I say and listen well: hold fast to the faith of the world's God. Take care not to fear death or possessions, for no one has ever died before his time. For the man fate is bound to kill, what is finer than death in battle? Know, all of you, that this is the day when the unbeliever shows himself against the pure faith. Do not look back over your shoulders, do not cry for help, do not count your own heads. Take care that none of you is seen fleeing, take care that you do not fear the clash of arms. Set the points of your spears to the fight, struggle a while and prove your manhood. While Esfandiar was in the midst of this, his father's voice came down from the mountainside: You famous men and champions of mine, all of you are like my own body and soul. Do not fear spear or mace or blade, for there is no escape from our destiny. By the faith of God, brave Esfandiar, by the soul of Zarir, that fighting horseman who now descends into paradise, for I have written a letter to Lohrasp: I accepted the counsel of that old king, that if good fortune lends me its hand, when I return from this battlefield I will give the crown and throne to Esfandiar. I will let the whole army pass to him, and set the royal crown upon his head. Just as my father gave the kingship to me, so I will give the kingship to him.

When Esfandiar, that mighty hero, the master of the throne, awesome in body and might, heard from that mountain the cry of his father, he bowed his head low in grief. He rode out with his spear gripped tight, his head hanging down in front of his father. Mounted high on a dark grey horse, like a demon that had broken free of its chains, he crashed into the enemy army the way a gust of wind falls upon rose petals. He kept killing them and cutting off heads; everyone who saw him died of sheer terror. Then Bastur, the mounted son of Zarir, rode out from the tent toward the keeper of the horses. There was a rested, swift horse, a spirited, full blooded runner. He asked his father's horse keeper for it, and set a golden saddle upon its back. He dressed it, threw on the armored covering, and tied a coiled lasso to the saddle straps. He put on his mail, mounted the horse, and slipped out secretly, spear in hand. He rode on this way all the way to the battlefield, making straight for where his slain father lay. He drove that swift, whirling steed forward, seeking vengeance and cutting men down. Every noble he met along the way, he asked about the famous warrior. He would say: where has Zarir fallen, my father, that brave and battling horseman? There was a man named Ardashir, a worthy rider, a bold champion. The wise young man asked him the way, and the champion showed him the road to his father. He has fallen, he said, in the midst of the army, near that black banner. Go quickly, for that is where he lies; perhaps you may see his face one last time. Then the prince spurred his chestnut horse, killing men in the dust and raising an uproar. He rode hard until he reached him, and saw him lying slain there in the dirt. When he came close and looked upon him, the bright world turned dark before his eyes. His heart and senses left him; he flung himself down from the saddle onto the ground. He cried: O my shining moon, light of my heart, my eyes, and my soul, you raised me through all that pain and hardship; now that you are gone, to whom have we been left? From the day King Lohrasp gave you the army, and gave Goshtasp the throne and crown, you kept the army and the country in good order, and eagerly longed for battle. Now that your name has blazed bright across the world, you have been killed before reaching your desire. I will go to your brother, the blessed king; I will tell him to come down from his fine seat, for this death you suffered was not worthy of you. Go and demand vengeance for him from the enemy. For a long while he stayed like this, then he mounted his horse again. Loudly wailing, he rode to the king, who was seated above the battlefield. The king of kings said: O life of your father, why have you filled these eyes with tears? The royal born youth said: O world conquering king, do you not see that my father is now destroyed? Then he said: O world conquering king, go and demand vengeance for my father. My father lies out on that dry earth, his black beard nourished with musk. When the king heard these words from the boy, the bright day turned utterly black for him. The world went dark for the world seeker, and his elephant like body grew thin with grief. Bring me, he said, my dark horse, my war coat, and my helmet, for today, to avenge him, I will drive rivers of blood from these enemies. I will light such a fire across the world that its smoke will rise all the way to Saturn. When the warriors saw that from the battlefield, from that dark field of combat, the king was preparing to arm himself and meant to ride out to seek vengeance, they said: we will not agree that the king of kings, the lord of the world, should enter the battle himself to seek vengeance. Why must this whole army be arrayed for that? The honored counselor said to the king: you must not go to that battlefield. Give Bastur a horse to mount, and send him against the enemy in battle, for it is better that he win back vengeance for his father than that you go and reclaim it.

The king then gave to him Behzad, along with an army in mail and helmets of steel. So the king fastened his belt for war and mounted the black steed, Behzad. He rode out toward the battlefield of the army, seated on that fine black horse. He stood before the enemy ranks and drew a cold sigh up from his heart. He said: I am Bastur, son of Zarir; no fierce lion dares to face me. Where is that sorcerer Bidarafsh, who bore off that banner of Jamshid? When they gave the noble one no answer, he spurred the black-hued Behzad forward. He killed many of the Tegin warriors, and no one came out to meet him. And on the other side, the hero Esfandiar was killing them beyond all measure and count. When the commander of China saw Bastur, that heroic son of royal blood, he said to his army: Who can this be, that can wield a spear in such a way? He has killed countless of my Tegin warriors, unless the rider Zarir has come back to life, for it was Zarir who first came against me, and he too drove his horse just like this. Where has that chosen Bidarafsh gone? Call him to me at once, quickly! They summoned him, and Bidarafsh came storming in, holding that purple banner in his hand, seated on that royal steed, wearing that heroic coat of mail, he rode from the king toward the army, guardian of the frontier and guardian of the throne, gripping that same poison-tempered blade with which he had struck down the rider Zarir. Both turned to their javelins and arrows: the chief of the Turkish sorcerers and the son of Zarir. Then they told the king of that fighting, and word reached the fortunate Esfandiar. He galloped until he reached them, and the chief of sorcerers, when he saw him, spurred his horse out of the fray, for he knew the man would fall upon his head. He flung that poisoned blade toward his face, hoping to mar that bright shining face. The poison-tempered blade did not strike him; instead he seized that king's blade firmly. He struck the sorcerer through the liver in heroic style, so the point came out the other side. Like a gazelle he fell from his horse and died; he had felt the power of the royal-born hand. Esfandiar came down from his horse; the arms of Zarir, that chosen rider, he stripped from that old sorcerer, and cut his head off from the half-dead body. He carried off Zarir's fine-colored steed and banner, and the worthless head of Bidarafsh. The army of Kayan raised a great shout; their cries rose past the clouds: The king has triumphed and struck down the enemy! And he brought back the bay warhorse. That bold young prince, mounted, carried Zarir's bay horse toward the king, and set the old sorcerer's head before him: he killed the killer; such was his creed and his way.

When that noble one renewed his vengeance, he threw a saddle on Zarir's horse. He galloped swiftly to the battlefield and split that royal army into three parts. One of those three he gave to Bastur, that commander of blessed lineage. Another portion he handed to his brother, along with Iran's nobles and its brave men. The third part he kept for himself, he whose voice rang out like a roaring cloud. Just as Bastur was blessed and pure of body, so too were the other swordsmen he brought. They stood together before him, for breaking enemy ranks was his way. And so they made a pact on this: that even if the enemy's blade split the earth, not one of us will turn back from this fight, nor loosen our grip on these evildoers. They tightened the girths firmly on their horses and rode as one heart toward the battle. When they spurred their horses into the fray, the heroes and young men of Iran, all rose up together as one, and dressed the world in armor. They killed so many of the enemy that the battlefield grew cramped for space. Such blood flowed over mountain and plain that the mills there turned with blood. When Arjasp saw what had come upon him, with his famous men and warriors, the fierce hero set his spear against those champions of the Yabghu line. He drove it through their chests and out their backs, until he had slain all their leaders. When the Khan realized how many still remained, and that no one dared to face him, the army began to stir and the fighting raged, and it went on until the day passed by. At that moment he broke into flight, and turned his face toward the desert. Then the Iranians pressed hard behind that vast Chinese army. They killed many of them on every side, and, strange to say, no one spared a single one.

When the Turks saw that Karjasp had fallen, and swords came flashing hot from every side, all their proud commanders dismounted and came before the warrior Esfandiar. They threw down their bows of Chach and stripped off their battle garments. Weeping, they said: if the king will spare the lives of these servants, we will submit and plead, and worship at all your sacred fires. When Esfandiar heard them, he granted safety to their lives and bodies. The renowned, nobly born warrior called out to that vast army: You famous men of Iran, turn back now from this army of the Chinese. Now that this enemy force is broken, hold your hands from this terror and slaughter. They are wretched and helpless; grant these dogs their lives. Stop taking captives now; bind no one, spill no blood. Do not charge, do not trample these dead; move about and count these wounded. For the sake of Zarir, do not seize them; do not linger long on your warhorses. When the army heard his voice, they left the wounded as he wished. They came down to their own camp and beat the drums of victory. All night they did not sleep for joy, for they had won a triumph worthy of Rostam. When that dark night broke and the blood soaked into the plain and desert, the famous king came with the army's chiefs to look upon that battlefield. He wandered among the dead; whoever he saw, he wept and passed on. He saw his brother slain in misery, cast down and dishonored on the field of combat. When he saw him so wretched and dead, he tore all his royal robes. He climbed down from his fine dappled horse and clawed at his own beard with both hands. He said: O king of the champions of Balkh, you have made our whole life bitter. Alas, O rider, O king, O sovereign, O brave warrior, O chosen witness. O my pillar, O shield of the land, O lamp of the world, O crown of the army. He came down and lifted him from the dust, and with his own hand wiped his face clean. He laid him in a golden coffin; you would say Zarir was never born of any family. The princes and his own young men were laid before him in their coffins. He ordered the dead to be counted, and the wounded to be carried away. He went all around that battlefield, over hill and desert, plain and road. Thirty thousand of the Iranians had been killed, and among them seven hundred proud and famous men. One thousand and forty of the notables were wounded, having escaped from beneath the elephants' feet. Of the others a hundred thousand were slain, and one thousand one hundred and sixty three of their famous men. Three thousand two hundred were wounded; stay here in this place as long as you can.

The renowned and fortunate king came back from the battlefield to his throne. He said to Bastur: at dawn tomorrow, lead the army toward our famous homeland. The commander came at daybreak, beat the war drum, and set the baggage in order. They turned their faces toward Iran, all with dazzled hearts and eager for war. They carried off all the wounded too, and left nothing behind of the spoils. They took them back to the land of Iran and handed them over to skilled physicians. When the king of the world returned to his place, he gave the royal fortune to his eldest son. The blessed king gave the army to Bastur; such was the custom and justice of the Persians. He gave him ten thousand of the noble, warrior riders and wielders of the lance. He commanded and said: Brave warrior, go and chase after the king of Turan. Pass through the lands of Aytash and Khallukh; kill whoever you find, to avenge my father. Whatever he might need for the task, he gave him, without limit and beyond counting. At once Bastur led that army away, while the king of the world, upon his throne, sat and placed the royal crown on his head, and granted audience to the whole army. He opened the treasury and, with its riches, fully outfitted the army. He gave cities to all the chiefs too; no one was left without a gift. To whoever deserved a kingdom he gave one; whoever needed rank, he raised in rank. When he had provided fittingly for their affairs, he sent them back to their homes. He strode to the throne, closed the gate, and settled in the royal palace. He ordered that a fire be kindled, and they burned aloe wood and amber upon it. They made its floor pure with gold; all its firewood was aloe, and its ashes amber. He had the whole palace fashioned well and named it the Hall of the Gushtaspians. He ordered that at the door of its dome they place Jamasp, his chief priest. He wrote a letter to his frontier guardians: the Lord has not left us abandoned. He turned our dark nights into day, and made the Kayanids victorious everywhere. The wicked Arjasp was cursed and disgraced; such is the way of the world's Creator. When you hear of your king's victory, give offerings to the keepers of the sacred fire. When the Caesar, that king of Rome, learned that this king had triumphed and cursed Arjasp had fallen, he sent a messenger with treasures, servants, and richly adorned horses. The king of the idol-worshippers, the rajas of India, and the kings of Sind paid him tribute.

In those days the renowned king took his seat upon the royal throne. He granted audience to the chosen ones of his army, to the nobles and kings of high birth. Forward came the hero Esfandiar, an ox-headed mace in his hand. On his head rested the royal crown, and beneath it his face shone like the moon. He stood before the king, lion-like, head bowed and hands folded in respect. When the king of the world saw his face, he chose him in his heart above his own life and realm. The king said to him: 'Brave Esfandiar, you long for battle.' The sword-wielding hero replied: 'The command is yours, for you are king and the world belongs to you.' The famous king gave him a golden crown and opened the doors of his treasuries to him. He entrusted all the affairs of Iran to him, for his was a champion's power in war. He gave him a banner, treasure, and an army, saying: 'Your time upon the throne has not yet come.' 'Go,' he said, 'set your foot in the stirrup and bring your whole land into the faith.' The king's proud, sword-wielding son set out and roamed the country with his army. He passed through Rome and India, crossing seas and lands of darkness. The kings of Rome, India, and Yemen all pledged their loyalty to the mighty hero. They asked him to teach the faith, and they embraced this good religion. Esfandiar taught it to them, carrying out his work by God's command. When they came to know his good faith, they took up his path and his way. They burned the idols from the mountaintops and lit sacred fires in their place. They all wrote to the king: 'We have taken the faith from Esfandiar.' 'We have girded the sacred cord and paid tribute; now you should no longer demand tribute from us.' 'We have become upright and worship God; now send us the Zend and the Avesta.' When the king read the letters of these rulers, he sat upon his throne and summoned his companions. He sent the Zend to every country, to every renowned figure and every chief. He ordered that the famed champion continue to roam in every direction across the world. Wherever that hero turned his face, someone came out to welcome him. Everyone submitted to his command, and through it the world grew pure and free of evil. When the whole world had been set right for his father, he loosened the golden belt from his waist. He sat in joy upon throne and seat, and rested for a while with his army. He summoned his brother Farshidvard and raised an army of the bravest men. He gave it to him along with much gold, granted him Khorasan, and sent him on his way. After a while had passed like this, the world was cleansed of evil and made pure by the faith. He sent a messenger to his father: 'O renowned and victorious king,' 'I have purified the world with the faith of God and cast the shadow of the royal bird of fortune over the land.' 'No one now fears another, and no one in the world is without gold and silver.' 'The world glows radiant like paradise, prosperous everywhere, with crops in every place.' 'The horsemen tended the world as farmers sowing seed.' 'In this way the whole world became so, and every evil-minded man vanished from the earth.'

One day the king sat down at ease and drank his pleasant wine in comfort. There was a proud, defiant man named Garzam, a fame seeking warrior tested in battle. In his heart he carried a grudge against Esfandiar; I do not know what caused it from the start. Wherever his name was mentioned, Garzam spoke ill of him and mocked him. He sat before the blessed king, his face pale with resentment, his heart ruined by spite. Talk of the prince came up; see now what a vicious slander he laid at the root. Meaningfully he clapped one hand on the other and said: a wicked son is like an enemy. He should not be raised too high; so the honest priest once said. For when a son grows fearsome and great, the days grow worse for his own father. A servant who lifts his head above his master should have that head cut down to size. When I first heard this from the keeper of secrets, this suspicion did not seem right to me. The world seeking king said: what talk is this again? Who holds this secret, and what secret is it? The royal king said: you who speak the truth, this is no place now to tell such a secret. So the chief of kings cleared the space around him and told the deceiver: come close to me. Tell me all of it, from start to finish; what is hidden from me, follower of my faith? The malicious Garzam said: by wisdom, one should say nothing but what is fitting. The king has freed me from needing the world; it is fitting that I keep nothing bad from the king. I will not withhold counsel from my king, even if it does not please him. For if I tell him the secret and he ignores it, that is better than keeping it hidden from him. Know this, great king: Esfandiar is preparing openly for war. Many troops have gathered around him; a whole world has turned its face toward him. His plan now is to seize you in chains and take the kingship for himself. If he captures you and binds you, he will make the whole world his subject. You know that Esfandiar is the one who has no equal in battle. When he coils his lasso for the throw, even the sun dares not come to meet him. Now I have told you truly what I heard; the judgment and the command are yours. When Garzam had said this to the king of Iran, the famous king was left dumbfounded. He said: who has ever seen such a strange thing? He grew grim and took a grudge against his son. He drank no more wine and made no cheer; instead of feasting he sat in cold dismay. From worry no sleep came to him that night, seized as he was by dread of Esfandiar. When dawn broke over the mountains and the light of the stars faded away, the world experienced king summoned Jamasp, the one who had seen most of Lohrasp's counsel. He told him: go to Esfandiar, summon him, and be his companion on the road. Tell him: rise and come to me; when you read the letter, do not delay on the way. For a great matter lies ahead; you are the one who holds all these lands together. There is a task now that must be done, a task that cannot be accomplished without you. He wrote him a firm letter that said: O renowned and fortunate Esfandiar, I have sent this elder Jamasp, who was chief minister to King Lohrasp. When you see him, gird your waist and come with him on a swift steed. If you are asleep, leap to your feet at once; and if you are standing, do not delay a moment. The wise man took the king's letter and rode across mountain and desert at a gallop.

In those days Esfandiar had gone out to the plain to hunt. Someone called out to him from that plain: the king has sent Jamasp away. When he heard that cry he was amazed; he turned and began to laugh. He had four chosen sons, all warriors, all skilled with the spear. The first was named Bahman, the second Mehrnush, the third was called the bold-hearted Tush. The fourth was named Nushazar, wherever the fire temple's dome was raised. His son Bahman said to the king of the world: may your head stay ever green with life. The king gave a deep laugh: I can find no way through this. He said to him: my son, in these days a messenger will come to me from the king's court. For I suddenly heard a voice, and I fear it is because of the words of those who lead astray. The king holds a grudge against me; his heart bears resentment toward his servant. His noble son asked: why? What have you done to the king of the land? That chief of kings said: my son, I know of no offense I have committed against my father. Except that, ever since I learned the faith, I have kindled its fire throughout the world. I cleansed the world with a cutting sword; why then does the king's heart darken like a cloud against me? Surely a demon has deceived his heart, so that he is set on killing me. While the king was still speaking of this, black dust appeared in the distance. The king's minister, a lamp to the world, was the king's messenger sent to the king's son. When he saw the dust rising from the mountains far off, he knew a messenger was coming. The king's son went out to meet him and waited until he arrived by the road. They dismounted from their gliding steeds; both hero and old man went on foot. The fortunate Esfandiar asked him: how is the king, that renowned lord? The wise man said: he is well and glad; he kissed his chest and handed over the letter. He told him truly of all that had happened: how a demon had led the king astray. Esfandiar said to the wise man: what do you think of my position in this matter? If I come with you to the court, my father will not treat me well. But if I do not come in obedience, I will have broken the bounds of a subject's duty. Find a solution, wise old man; things cannot be left hanging like this in vain. The wise man said: warrior king, old in wisdom and young in fortune, You know that a father's anger against his son is better than a son's cruelty against a father. You must go; that is the way, for whatever he does, he is the king. On this they agreed and turned back, the messenger and the son of Khosrow the needy. He brought him to a fine lodging; both took wine in hand. They burned aloeswood before him; you would think they were kindling a fire. The next day he sat upon his throne, and many came before him from the army. He handed all his troops over to Bahman, and from there set off with a few warriors. He came to the court of the noble king, his belt fastened and his crown upon his head.

When the king learned that his son had come, wearing the royal crown upon his head, he summoned all the great and the humble to his presence, and the priests with their sacred books beside him. He seated all the priests on chairs, then called for that sword-wielding prince. The warrior came forward, hands folded upon his chest, standing before his father like a servant. The king of kings spoke to the priests, to those noble men and army commanders: What do you say, he asked, you who are free-born and have raised your children through hardship? In this world, whoever has a son, the crowned one's heart rejoices in him. In his sweet infancy he hands him to a nurse and sets a golden crown upon his head. He keeps him until he grows skilled, and teaches him how to eat and how to ride. The worthy man endures much toil until the son proves himself in battle. When the free-born reaches the path of manhood, like gold that ripens to a yellow gleam from the mine, people seek him out as seekers do, and the speakers praise him all the more. He becomes a fine horseman, victorious in war, foremost in gatherings, in combat and in feast. When he grows strong in neck and shoulder and stature, the father has grown old and sits in his palace. The son would empty the whole world of him, thinking him no longer fit for the throne of kingship. The father keeps only the name of the throne, sitting in his hall as a watchman over his belongings. For the son, the world, the banner, and the army; for the father, only a crown and a golden cap. He is not content even with the son; do the champions approve of such a tale? For the sake of a single crown and diadem, the son wants his father's head cut from his body. He then sets out against him with his army, his heart bent on making war upon him. What do you say, elders, about this son? What is the good and proper thing for the father to do? His chosen men said: O king, such a thing can never be counted right. The father alive and the son seeking the throne, ask for nothing more raw and shameful than this. The ruler of the world said: here is that very son who plots to take his father's place. But I will strike him with a rod, so that all my streets take warning. Then I will bind him as he deserves, in bonds no one has ever placed on anyone. The son said: O king of noble nature, when did I ever wish for your death? I know of no sin, O king, that I have committed in all my days. By your life, O king, if I have harbored evil in my heart, then cut off my head. But you are the king, and the command is yours; I am yours, and the chains and prison are yours. Now order the bonds, or if you wish, kill me; my heart is steady and my mind is calm. The chief of kings said: bring the fetters, bind him, and do not fall short of this. The blacksmiths brought forward heavy collars, shackles, and chains. In that assembly no one moved his tongue to plead before the king of the world. They bound his head, his hands, and his feet before the world-ruling lord of the earth. They bound his feet so firmly that everyone who saw it wept bitterly. When they put the chain around his neck, he ordered him carried off bound through the gate. Bring, he said, a male elephant, swift as a bird, running as though it could fly. They brought up an elephant vast as the Nile and bound the prince upon its back. When they led him away from his royal father, his eyes were full of tears, his cheeks wet. They sent him toward the domed fortress, the army commanders surrounding him front and back. Full of grief they carried him up the mountain and brought four pillars of iron. They set up great iron pillars, their tops in the air and their bases in the ground. They bound him fast there; fortune had cast him from his throne and turned away. Then they set several men to guard him, that champion's son, in scorching pain and sorrow. He lived on in that narrow confinement, weeping bitterly from moment to moment.

A long time passed until the king turned his face toward Sistan. To establish there the Zend and Avesta, and to make the magi its witnesses. When that noble king arrived, the army's champion came out to welcome him. The lord of Nimruz, the one called Rostam, a warrior who had seen the world, the equal of Sam. Along with old Dastan, who was his father, and with the great and chosen nobles of the court. They came out on the road to greet him joyfully, and the blessed king was gladdened by them. They took him to Zabol as their guest; they all stood before him like servants. They learned the Zend from him and tied on the sacred belt, and they lit the fire. Two years passed in this feasting, and Goshtasp dined with the son of Zal. Wherever there were kings, they learned of Goshtasp's deed. That he had bound the head of the champion and pierced his elephant-like body with iron. He went to Zabolestan on a prophetic mission, to curse the idol of Azar. One by one they turned away from the king's command and broke the king's covenant among themselves. When word reached Bahman that the king had chained that lion without any guilt, the chosen warriors of Esfandiar left that place in grief. They kept their hands off the army and set out on the long road. They came before the hero Esfandiar, princes of royal blood, brave as lions. They kept their father in comfort and did not leave him alone in his prison. Then word reached the commander of China that the king, out of suspicion, had turned to vengeance. Khosrow raged against Esfandiar and cast him wretchedly into prison and chains. He himself marched from Balkh toward Zabolestan, crossed the desert and beheld the Oxus. He is settled in Zabol as Zal's guest; two years have passed in this time. King Lohrasp is in Balkh; none of the Iranians and their army remain there, except seven hundred fire-worshippers, all with hands raised before the flame. Apart from them there is no one in Balkh; of the keepers of the fire, this is all that is left, save the guards of Homay's palace. Come, rise quickly and do not delay. The king of Chegel summoned all the nobles and gave them heart for war against Lohrasp. He said: Know that King Goshtasp has taken the road toward Nimruz. He is settled in Zabol with his army; there is not a single horseman left in all his land. Now is the time to seek revenge; we must prepare and make ready. His son, the noble Esfandiar, is held fast in heavy chains. Where is a man who can search out secrets, one who can travel this deep, long road? One who will not go by the road at all, but travel off-road, and pass through Iran wary and watchful? There was a sorcerer named Sotuh, a traveler of roads and a seeker of hidden things. He said: It is I, quiet and unseeking of fame. Tell me whatever you need. The king of China said: Go quietly into Iran and see who guards the fire. The searcher of secrets traveled the road and made straight for Balkh, where the king's court had been. He did not find King Goshtasp within; he saw only an attendant and Lohrasp. He went back and told the Khaqan just so, sweeping the ground with his face before him. When Arjasp learned of it he grew glad, and was freed of his old sorrow. He summoned all their leaders and said: Go, gather the scattered army together. The warriors of the army all set out, to the mountains, the desert, and the grazing grounds. They called back his army to him, the chosen horsemen of his land.